


the american dream

by avienexjel



Series: one-shots.  raw. [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark-centric, Unrequited Love, a lot of his emotions in this story, are affected by his perception of tony, in that it's steve's pov but, unhappy ending!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:02:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avienexjel/pseuds/avienexjel
Summary: in the end, they never officially break it off.  they just start visiting each other less and less, and less, and then it's like they were never together in the first place.or - tony and steve are in love before ultron.  they might say they are in love after, but there have always been issues.





	the american dream

**Author's Note:**

> no wanda, vision, or pietro included in this fic, only ultron. jarvis still dies.  
> a/n: please, no hate on steve or how i choose to portray tony's role in ultron. the sceptre/wanda may have had a lot of influence, but tony was still reckless (imo). i wrote this fic for the feels, not for certain character hate, so please be mindful of this when/if you comment. thanks :). p.s. also please note that i didn't write this for the tony angst, exactly. it's more like i wanted to humanize our heroes as people who make mistakes and sometimes don't treat others as kindly as they should. but they *are* human

 

They've never directly talked about it before, but Tony must be aware of how much Steve hates it when Tony drinks.

The funny thing is, Tony's such a sweet drunk - a little emotional, for sure, but not like Steve's father when he was neck-deep in a bottle and decided to take a swing or two at his wife.  No, Tony's not the violent type, he just paws at Steve's chest and looks up with those red-ringed doe eyes and cries a little sometimes.

Perfectly harmless.

But Steve hates it.

They don't get together until a half year after the Battle of New York, and they keep their relationship under wraps, even from their teammates.  "It's easier this way," Steve says, and ignores the way something odd flits across Tony's face before disappearing. It's probably relief, because he knows how much Tony's life is in the public eye and the engineer is probably hungry for some well-deserved privacy.  "We can come out later, if you want. Once we settle down and actually establish something serious."

"Yeah, okay," Tony agrees, and that's that.  By this time, Steve doesn't even have to deal with Tony's alcohol issues, because it's been several months since his breakup with Pepper and he's okay now that he's got Steve.

For a time, they are happy.

In the early months they wake up in each other's arms every morning and it is lazy and warm and beautiful.  Steve cracks open his eyes on Saturdays and there's Tony, softer and smaller somehow in sleep, curled up against Steve's chest with his hair all tufty and his mouth slightly open.  Steve runs his hand through the thick locks, treasuring the way Tony mumbles inaudibly as he's wont to do at any affectionate touch, and marvels at how this man - this kind, intelligent, brave, amazing man - is all his.  

Of course, it's a little uncomfortable when they go out and they have to stop holding hands, or when a reporter comes up to him and Tony and asks whether either of them are in a relationship.  Tony's always been good at deflecting so that's what he does, just makes a jokey self-deprecating quip that involves Ms. Potts, but Steve's never been able to work a crowd as well. So instead, he blushes and looks down and says, "I left my last love when I went into the ice."  See, the reporters love a juicy bit of tragedy, but even they have enough decency to leave him alone after that. Then he and Tony can get back to being with each other again, even if Tony's eyes are always a bit harder to read after questions like that.

Sometimes he thinks the other Avengers suspect something, considering they all live in the Tower and all, but Tony's surprisingly nice about it when Steve expresses his anxiety over it.  "It's okay, Steve," he soothes, and rubs comforting circles on the blonde's back. He even offers to let Steve date other people in public, if only to throw everyone off their scent.

Steve agrees, but only because the way he grew up still makes him uncomfortable, this idea of two men together.  And, of course, it's Tony. Tony doesn't need any more of the publicity that would come with sleeping with Captain America.

His favorite part about Tony, he thinks, is that there is no favorite part.  He loves everything; the way Tony pokes his tongue out of his mouth when he works, or the rapid-fire speed with which he can delve into the most confusing STEM subjects, or the way his hands are littered with small scars from working in the shop.  He loves how Tony runs his hands through his hair and it gets all crazy from engine grease, or how he always seems to have a black smudge on his cheekbone from suit repairs. He loves how Tony mumbles in his sleep and how he does this snap-clap thing when he's explaining something and how he has this thick, dark chunk of lower eyelash on his right eye, like a spot of eyeliner.  And of course there are less-than-great things about Tony too, like his alcoholism, or his stubbornness, or his recklessness, or his tendency to ignore people when he doesn't want to face them, but overall Steve's the happiest he's been since he got out of the ice.

Their relationship only hits a pit after Tony creates a homicidal robot hellbent on murder and world destruction.  It's later on determined that much of the blame lies within Loki's sceptre itself rather than the billionaire who triggered its consciousness, but Steve cannot forget that Tony shouldn't have been messing around with this kind of thing in the first place.  He knows Tony; he knows Tony has a big heart and better intentions. But what Steve has learned from growing up in an abusive household and surviving most of World War Two is that intent rarely matters more than outcome. It is outcome that affects everything, that put bruises on Steve's mother's body and sent Steve seventy years into the future.  

They try to work on it, but he finds himself looking at Tony differently than he used to in the wake of Ultron.  Tony's eyes are still beautiful, his lashes still long and his mouth still gorgeous, but. But. There is this invisible barrier blocking Steve off.  When he reaches for Tony, sometimes, he has to snatch his hand back. It is like the carefully constructed image of his lover he had in his head will shatter if he makes contact.

One day, Tony comes out early into the communal kitchen for breakfast.  The other Avengers (sans Thor, who's in Asgard) are there already, adrift in their own heads, talking in hushed voices.  Everyone quiets when they see him; Steve understands though, because he knows the other Avengers have been having some trouble viewing Tony the same too in the wake of Ultron.  Natasha is especially hostile because they had all watched the last recordings from before JARVIS's death, the ones where Tony cajoled and manipulated Bruce into helping him with the ULTRON project.  Maybe it's not right, Steve thinks, pinning what was essentially Bruce's own decision onto Tony and then blaming him for the Hulk's subsequent disappearance, but he understands this too. Natasha is hurting, she feels lost and alone.  They are all hurting.

It seems as if Tony can sense the tenseness in the atmosphere as well, because he sidles in almost like a timid puppy, glancing around at Clint and Natasha before ducking his head.  Steve finds a bitter taste filling his mouth; this, this cowed man, this is not the Tony Stark he knows. Tony is bold, confident, snarky - he's never been _small._ He itches to reach out for Tony's arm, tug him in and hold him close, but then he remembers that Clint and Nat are with them and it wouldn't be appropriate.  

He settles for a, "Good morning, Tony," because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Steve," Tony says - mumbles, really - as he starts the coffee machine.  The machine's high tech, just like everything else in the Tower, and normally Steve loves how Tony can make anything fascinating but sometimes it's just annoying.  Who needs an AI in the toaster? Why are there seven different buttons on the microwave?

Tony still hasn't looked at him.  Steve wonders if he's doing it on purpose.

"You're up early, Stark," Clint comments as he pops an orange slice into his mouth.  He's watching Tony like the bird he was adequately named for and it makes Steve uneasy.  Clint was affected hard too, by Ultron; there had been a small child in the rubble not unlike Clint's own Cooper that he'd been too late to save.  Steve had asked him about it, gently; Clint had refused to answer.

"Yeah."  Tony gives a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.  "I didn't, uh, go to sleep, so…"

Tony has to go past Steve to get a mug, but Steve tenses when he does, spins Tony around with a hand to the shoulder.  Tony jerks for a second, almost like a flinch, but then he stumbles back and Steve realizes it's only because he'd knocked him off balance.  "Were you drinking?" he says, voice a little colder than he means it to be. He can smell it now, sharp and acidic, especially with his heightened serum-enhanced senses.  "Is that why you didn't go to sleep, Tony?"

That's another thing - after Ultron, Tony stopped sleeping in Steve's bed so much.  Steve found him in the workshop one night, curled up on the couch, but hadn't wanted to wake him up - they both needed the rest.

Tony's eyes ghost to the floor.  "No," he says quietly. "I was working.  I only had a little bit - it helps me focus when I'm anxious."

"You haven't drunk in four months," Steve says.  He's incredulous. How could Tony just - give up - how could he - ?  It hurts. It hurts seeing his father beat his mother every time he closes his eyes and then open them and see his lover, stinking of expensive bourbon, try to excuse himself.   _It helps me focus._ The very sentence makes Steve's blood run hot.  There is no excuse for drinking. There is no excuse for, for, for.

"I know," Tony says.  He is still being quiet, uncharacteristically so; it makes Steve's head itch with something he doesn't know how to define.  He feels wild and untethered, unraveling. Something between them is coming loose right here, in this moment, and he doesn't know if they can fix it.  "I'm sorry. I just - it really does help me focus. I wasn't really...I was having a hard time last night."

"You were having a hard time?" Clint says, _snorts,_ more like.  "Doing what?  Making another murder bot?"

Tony stiffens.  "I fucked up, I know," he says, voice stronger now.  "But Ultron's consciousness - that wasn't me. That was the scepter."

"You're making excuses," Natasha says.  "You shouldn't have been messing around with that in the first place."

"I _know."_ A hint of desperation edges into Tony's voice, like he is trying to convince himself of something.  "I'm _sorry."_

Joe Rogers used to do that a lot, Steve remembers.  He would hit Ma and then apologize, but by the next day it was the same old cycle - hit, apologize, drink and repeat, drink and repeat.

"Sorry's not enough," he mutters, to himself more than to Tony, but he sees Tony's head jerk up and hurt flash in those large brown eyes and knows he's heard all the same.

"I'm trying to make up for my mistakes," Tony says quietly.  His hands tremble a little around his mug, and Steve wants to take them and kiss his knuckles to calm him down.  But he doesn't, because love has never been that easy.

"Maybe you should go back down to the workshop," Steve says after a lengthy bit of silence, trying to mitigate the situation.  He looks at Tony, tries to convey some sort of apology through his gaze. "I'll come down later."

Tony's eyes finally lift to meet his, and when they do, Steve's taken aback by how empty they are.  "Okay," he says slowly, cupping the coffee mug to his chest. "See you later, Steve."

 

In the end, that is the first major bump, although Steve didn't know that then.  He forgets to come down to see Tony, and goes to the gym and draws and eats lunch and dinner with Clint and Natasha instead, and it's only by the time they've finished up that he remembers he never went to see his lover.  Boyfriend? They've never really found the need to talk about what they are.

He spends time packing up a plate of leftover lasagna and a glass of milk and carries it down to the workshop, as dutiful as his mother raised him to be.  When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he sees Tony through the glass wall of the shop, hammering a sheet of metal flat and looking open and relaxed. Sober and strong.

He doesn't know why he doesn't enter immediately, but he stands outside for some time with the plate in one hand and the milk in the other, just watching Tony work.  It is beautiful, seeing the engineer in his element - Tony is dressed in a black tank top and cargo pants and his arms are toned and tan and lined with muscle, his eyes bright and concentrated behind protective work goggles.  He watches as Tony stops for a second, runs a grease-stained hand through his dark hair. He still hasn't seen Steve, but the blonde's mouth goes dry, looking at him.

Finally, Steve types in his code and enters the shop, smiling as Tony's head jerks up in surprise.  "Hey," he says. "I brought you something."

Tony makes a noise of approval.  "Come here," he says impatiently, motioning at Steve.  "Didn't really eat anything today besides, like, coffee."

"I don't think coffee counts as sustenance," Steve says, withholding the food from Tony's grabby hands.  "Wash first."

_"Steve."_

"No," Steve says firmly.  "You're covered in grease and who knows what else.  Clean."

Tony finally relents, scrubbing the dirt and metallic scent from his fingers before reaching out to take the lasagna.  "Th'nks," he mumbles thickly around a mouthful of food.

"So, what are you working on?" Steve asks after they've sat around for a few moments in silence.  For the first time, the quiet feels - stilted. Almost awkward. It's startling, because he can't remember the last time he looked at Tony and just had no idea what to say.

Even with the Ultron thing, and Tony's slip from this morning, he hasn't been really been worrying himself over either.  So it should come easily to him, talking. But it doesn't, it doesn't and he doesn't know what's wrong. It feels somehow like the string tethering them together has frayed a little.

Tony glances up at him.  He doesn't smile but his eyes are warm as they land on Steve's, and a hot little curl of shame winds up in the blonde that he can't explain away.  "Just fixing Mark VII's breastplate," he says, shrugging. "Got dented up in our last fight."

For a second, Steve thinks back to their fight with Ultron.  It's the only fight that's really stuck with him - besides the Battle of New York - although he _knows_ Tony is talking about the one from last week with the strange spaghetti-resembling sea creatures.

"Oh," he says lamely.  "Well. That's good."

"Yeah," Tony replies.  He sounds listless, distant.

"Hey," Steve says slowly.  He never knows how Tony will react to these kinds of things - how his own heart will react to these things.  "What was that about, today? This morning?"

"Oh," Tony says - now it's he who's saying _oh_ this time.  He looks at Steve with large brown eyes, the eyes Steve fell in love with.  "I meant what I said, about it helping me concentrate. I just had a little."

"It didn't smell like a little," Steve finds himself saying, even though it did.  Maybe he wants to test Tony. Maybe he wants to antagonize him, just a little, because he never said he was the perfect boyfriend, Mr. Nice Guy.  That's what the world said. All he did was show up in good condition.

"That's because the serum heightened your senses," Tony says, but his frown is directed at the lasagna.  "I swear, Steve, only a little. That's it."

"We talked about this," Steve says quietly.  The truth is, he's never really understood alcoholism.  Sure, he's seen the effects - shitty people doing shitty things - but how can anything just _control_ a person like that?  There are tons of people who can get drunk but don't get addicted, or people who don't even drink at all.  So why his dad? Why Tony's? Why _Tony?_

Maybe it's a self-control thing.  Tony, for all the things Steve treasures about him, has no concept of taking care of himself or holding back from doing reckless things.  Maybe it's because his father beat his mother, so he knows what drinking can do to you - but Tony's always been half of this little, insecure boy, wanting to live up to his dad's expectations even when it should've been clear he never would.  

Steve gets to see that little boy, sometimes.  In bed, when they are making love and Tony is eager to please but withdrawn when it comes to his own needs.  In the workshop, when he's scribbling equations and inventing things beyond Steve's comprehension and tries to toss the schematics, ranting about how useless they are.  In their relationship, when Tony buys him things he doesn't need or want, because Tony thinks the only thing he has to give is everything but himself.

It makes him sad.  To see someone so brilliant and funny and genuine and _kind_ hide those parts of themselves, like that.  But also - also, Steve knows a relationship goes two ways.  If Tony drinks, they have to talk about it. If Tony drinks, they have to - he won't just forgive it.  He _can't_ just forgive it.

"I don't know," Tony says, his voice a little strained.  He comes over to Steve but hovers there, like he's afraid to move any closer.  "I'm serious. I don't know. I just saw it and I thought, why not? I couldn't focus.  I kept thinking about things. I have to _work,_ Steve, I have deadlines.  You guys don't but I do. If I want to drink a little just to calm myself down, then why shouldn't I?"

"I'm not attacking you," Steve says placatingly.  Soft, there, that's it. He comes forward and puts his hands on Tony's shoulders, drawing him in.  "I'm just worried."

"Worried, huh?" Tony mumbles into his shirt.  His mouth is warm against Steve's chest. "Worried about me, or worried about your reputation?"

Steve feels the ice course through his veins before he can even register the words.  He pulls back. "That's what you think? You think all this is just because of my reputation?"  In hindsight, he doesn't know why he's getting so mad.

"Well," Tony says, drawing the word out.  "What am I supposed to think?"

"I _told_ you why," Steve grits through clenched teeth.  "I told you why, Tony. And it's just not - it's not good, or healthy for you.  Why do you have to act like nobody cares about you when we _all_ do?"

"Well," Tony repeats.  He says it strongly, like it's the only word he is familiar with.  "Your reputation's fine, Steve. Just fine."

Steve opens his mouth.  

Later on, when he's had time to think through the argument while trying to figure out exactly how and why it escalated, he'll regret saying it.  He'll curse himself, and hate himself, and wonder how he could have said something like that to his boyfriend. But in the moment, he's just angry and frustrated and suddenly tired from having to deal with Avenging and himself _and_ Tony in this gaudy new century.  And so he looks Tony square in the face and snaps, "Yes, Tony, I _know_ it is.  Because nobody else knows we're dating but you and me."

Tony's heard worse.  Steve knows Tony knows he's heard worse.  But this is probably the first time Steve's ever gone for their relationship like that, and they both know it.

Tony rears back like Steve's just hit him before shoving the blonde away.  There's no fire in the shove, though, only some strange flailing desperation, and for a moment Steve doesn't do anything but let himself rock back in surprise.  Tony's not getting mad. He was supposed to get mad (isn't that part of why he said it?).

What he's just implied hits him like a freight train and he says, helplessly, _"Tony."_

 _"Tony,"_ Tony mocks him, backing away.  He won't turn his back on Steve, and that hurts more than it should.  "Go away, Steve. I'm busy. Working."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"So," Tony says, a sharpness entering his voice like a toothpick, "how did you mean it, then?"

"Tony, I," Steve begins.

Tony shakes his head.  He reaches for something on the work table, but it's blocked by his back and Steve can't see what he's doing.  "Go _away,_ Steve."

He'll regret it later, alongside all the other things he'll regret, but for now Steve just knows when he's not wanted.  "I'll come back later," he promises quietly.

Tony gives no indication that he's heard him, and he never even mentions it when Steve forgets later on and ends up retiring to bed.  

 

For the next month, Tony is on good behavior.  He works hard but remembers to get enough sleep, to eat food and drink water and come up for movie nights.  Clint and Natasha slowly wind their anger down and start to include him again, so for a while, everything seems okay.  

Soon enough they return to their couple routine, and they try to forget about their argument - far from being their loudest one, and yet it haunts Steve's waking thoughts.  After the typical weekly battle against a small-time villain, Tony will have FRIDAY peel back his helmet before walking over to Steve, where the supersoldier is gifted with a face-full of sweaty, tired, gorgeous engineer.  "Hi, soldier," Tony will say, slightly flirtatious and just hushed enough that nobody but Steve can pick up on it.

"Hey, Shellhead," Steve will reply fondly, wrapping his arm around the hard outer shell of Tony's suit.  Then they'll walk back to the SHIELD quinjet, even though Tony can easily fly back to the Compound by himself and they don't necessarily need to make contact.

Yes, this is how the good days go.  The days are quiet, filled with sun and the old raw city smell of Manhattan.  They go out during the day to fight villains, and they return home rumpled and tired but happy.  Because, after all, they're home.

 

It doesn't last.

 

On Saturday Steve wakes up in bed with Tony in his arms.  He spends some time just looking at his lover - the slack mouth he emptied kisses into last night, the loosely curled hands that, just hours before, had been touching Steve, tugging and teasing and taking him.

Half an hour later, Tony blinks himself awake slowly, and Steve loves it - the slow awareness, the lazy flutter of lashes.  "Good morning," he whispers. The skin of Tony's neck is hot against his mouth.

"Hi," Tony murmurs, turning his head so that his smile is pressed to Steve's.  

They don't need to say anything; sunlight filters idly into the bedroom and catches on the edges of Tony's hair, turning it gold around the edges.  It looks like an aura, softening the edges of his body. To Steve, he is beautiful like this - open and vulnerable in the morning light, still pliable with sleep, eyes wide and brown with dark amber flecks.  

Finally, though, Steve has to get up.  "I'll be back later, alright," he says softly, sitting up in bed.  It already feels substantially cooler as he pushes the blankets off his body.  "I'm going out for my morning run, but after I'll come back and shower and get back in bed with you, alright?"

"Alright," Tony says, smiling a little as he snuggles back into the bed.  "Have fun, although I don't know why you would subject yourself to such torture."

"You certainly appreciate its results though," Steve replies with a grin as Tony watches him strip off his sleep shirt, eyes never straying.  

Tony just hums at him.  Only his eyes are visible now over the line of the blanket, and Steve wants to take a picture of the adorableness - to tell FRIDAY to - but the AI only does passive scanning in the bedrooms.  Oh, well. He's got enough snapshots of Tony in the living room and the kitchen and on his phone to last him a lifetime.

"See you later, Shellhead," he calls as he heads out in his running shirt and joggers.

Tony's eyes crinkle up, and by that alone, Steve can tell that he is happy.  "See you, Winghead."

As promised, Steve returns to the penthouse promptly after his run and showers, toweling his hair off and changing into some comfy clothing before coming over to the bed.  It's almost nine am, and still early, so it doesn't surprise him to see that Tony's gone to sleep again.

The engineer must have been more tired than Steve realized, because even as the bed shifts and dips under his weight, Tony doesn't stir.  He figures he should let him sleep so he settles against the headboard and takes out his custom-made Stark tablet - Tony's downloaded apps for him where he can read novels and the like, and recently he's been really into Kindle.  At his hip, Tony mumbles a little and shifts into him, pressing his face against the fabric of Steve's sweatpants.

As he reads, he curls a hand through Tony's hair.  The air is considerably warmer now, almost stifling - but to Steve, it feels good.  The further from his stint in the ice, the better, he supposes, although when he looks down Tony's frowning and shifting around like he's trying to throw the blankets off.

It's ten o'clock.  Before he goes downstairs, he folds the blankets down Tony's body.  Tony mumbles something incoherent and thrashes a little, so Steve presses a quick kiss to his forehead to calm him down.  He must be having a nightmare.

Then he heads out the door and takes the elevator down to the kitchen to catch a quick breakfast.

 

Steve goes to the gym with Clint and Natasha and it's only after dinner with the two that he realizes he hasn't seen Tony yet.  "Crap," he says aloud, and then glances at the assassins. "Tony's probably overworking himself again in the workshop."

"He hasn't eaten anything yet, I don't think," Natasha says.  "Bring some leftovers down for him."

"Tell Stark," Clint begins, then stops.  "Uh. Yeah. Just, tell him to eat. He, he needs to eat."

"Okay."  Steve looks at them and they look back at him, and some quiet understanding passes between them all in that moment, something pregnant with heavy meaning.  "I'll bring down the leftovers."

He leaves Clint and Nat to themselves and stops momentarily by the kitchen, packing up a plate of still-warm lasagna and a glass of milk to bring down for Tony.  Tony likes milk, which is a simple fact but yet something that not many people know about the engineer. When he's not drinking coffee, or boozing around, he's drinking milk, and Steve finds it incredibly endearing.  

However, when he reaches the workshop, there's no Tony in sight.  "J - FRIDAY," he says into the empty air, "where's Tony?"

"Sir is on the penthouse level," the AI replies promptly.  "But I would recommend leaving his dinner for him in the workshop till he is fit to come downstairs."

It's strange, how different FRIDAY is from JARVIS.  JARVIS was just as robotic, monotonous, as his new counterpart.  But FRIDAY is...moreso, somehow. Less personality, less character, more servile.  Perhaps it is because after Ultron, Tony feared what his own hands could do.

"What is he doing?" he says, tamping down the suspicion.  Tony's in the penthouse, maybe he's sleeping then. But the way FRIDAY is speaking sounds off to him, somehow.  Like Tony's not okay, maybe, like he's doing something…

"I cannot provide that information," FRIDAY says, and this one little sentence tells Steve everything he needs to know.  

He stalks over to the elevator and jabs the up button.  They're supposed to be a _couple,_ god dammit, not hiding things from each other.  And he has a very good guess about what Tony's doing right now, after that tumultuous morning..

"Tony," he says as soon as he gets into the penthouse.  "Tony." Louder.

He checks the bedroom, just in case, hoping that he's wrong.  But Tony's not there. So he goes to the bar and sure enough, there's a dark form hunched over on one of the barstools, head down.  

 _"Tony,"_ he says forcefully, perhaps more harshly than he means to.  "Really?"

Tony spins around, the action almost lazy, to face him.  "Steve," he blubbers, and Steve can't help the disgust that wells up in him.  His - his - hell, his _boyfriend,_ that's what Tony is, and he's just like Steve's dad, it's disgusting, the stench of alcohol is so strong it stings the inside of Steve's nostrils.  "'M sorry," Tony continues, through a mumble. Oh, God, he's absolutely _plastered._ Not even a little bit, no...because Tony's just that kind of person, the kind of guy who goes all out.

Normally Steve finds this amusing, even sweet.  But now he can feel nothing but betrayal.

"You know my dad drank," he says, a little helpless, a little mad.  "Why would you - Tony, I told you not to. I told you it's a, a hard thing for me.   _You_ should know how people get when they drink, Howard was an asshole too, wasn't he?"

Tony glares at him, because Tony makes things about himself, that's what he does.  Forget Joe Rogers. Forget the drinking. Howard's off-limits, but so was alcohol, wasn't it?  

"I thought you weren't going to drink again."  He stalks forward with one long stride, snatches the empty bottle out of Tony's hand and tosses it to the floor.  "What are you even - why are you even doing this?"

Here's the thing about Steve: he grew up during the Great Depression, with a father who drank and beat his mother.  And then he drove a plane into the ice and woke up seventy years in the future, only to realize he had nobody left.

Here's another thing about Steve: he remembers the times when he was a kid and his dad would pick him up and sit him on his shoulders.  Joe Rogers wasn't always a bad guy. So it was the drink, it must have been. And he looks at Tony and he sees his father in him and he can't lose Tony to it too.  He can't look at his boyfriend every day and wonder if sooner or later Tony will bring him down too.

"I know, I just slipped again, 'm sorry," Tony says.  His face is crumpling, which is shocking because Steve rarely ever sees him cry.  In this moment, however, he just looks gross - eyes swollen, cheeks red, mouth stinking with that acid tang.  Another wave of revulsion washes over Steve. This is the man he's _dating_ \- a man who can't even keep the one fucking promise he made to Steve, to not drink, to not become one of the countless Howard Starks or Joe Rogerses of the world.  Where is the man from this morning?

"You're not sorry."  Steve lowers his voice.  He can't look at him - look at Tony.  "You're not _sorry,_ Tony."

"It won't happen again," Tony whispers.  "I - I slipped, was an accident. I've been doing well.  I just - I don' know what came over me."

Steve softens, just a bit.  But only a bit. "I'll have FRIDAY keep you out of the penthouse bar from now on, okay?"

"Okay," Tony mutters, low and ashamed.  Steve uncurls his fists and realizes his hands are shaking.  "Uh - Fri. C'n you - "

"Yes, Sir," the AI replies promptly.

Steve takes another look at the rumpled man in front of him.  The drink has done nothing but mar his beauty, that tentatively captivating gorgeousness.  "Go to bed, Tony," he says tiredly, suddenly feeling all of his ninety plus years. Even then, he knows - somehow - that the bed Tony will eventually retire to is not their own but the couch in the workshop.  "Just - Jesus. Go to bed."

 

He thinks that is the first bump.

 

In hindsight, he doesn't know how he didn't see it before.  The drinking, that is. Well, he knew about it, of course, Tony's little habits, but he'd foolishly thought it would stop.  That Tony would see him before he saw the drink. He was wrong.

After that day, he starts seeing things everywhere.  The little redness rimming Tony's eyes, the way his hands shake minutely, the way he sometimes over-enunciates words - as if he's trying to keep himself from slurring.  And there is the smell, of old whiskey hidden away in cupboards and behind shelves and things Tony must have drank today, yesterday, the day before yesterday, that have left their trails in the air like an oil slick.  

It burns.  They start separating, just a little bit.

It's not a quick separation - like a, a breakup or anything, God forbid.  No, it's slow and easy to miss if you blink. Hazy, from one snapshot to the next.

It starts that Steve forgets to come down to the workshop more and more.  At least, that's what he tells himself, that he just forgot and he'll remember next time.  He used to draw in there all the time on that ratty old couch, sketching the way Tony looked in his element - all bright-eyed and steady - but now he sees the gym and it's like…  It's like, he just thinks, _Tony's workshop,_ and then he thinks, _Maybe I should go do something else for a while._

At first he thinks Tony might be confused about it.  The engineer has begun sneaking him looks during movie nights and team meals and a couple of times, Steve has noticed that Tony will begin reaching for his hand only to pull back.

He wants to go up to him.  Tell him, _I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me,_ but he can't lie about it.  It _is_ kind of Tony.  It is Tony, and it is his father, and it is Steve doing everything he can possibly do to accommodate his lover only for Tony to go down to his workshop and drink till he passes out.  

He no longer knows where they stand.

 

The second hint that something is wrong is that Steve begins to lose more trust in Tony.

He thought he was over it by now.  Ultron made his heart shake, his hands quiver, his tongue lodge in his throat when he looked at Tony - but he thought he was finally relearning how to love those brown eyes, and that quick mouth, and those sure hands.  

But something changes.  

He begins to wonder, secretly, if Tony is cheating on him.  He begins to wonder, secretly, how long Tony has been drinking under his nose.  He begins to wonder, secretly, if Tony even loves him.

It is not like after Ultron.  It is far worse than Ultron.

During movie nights, Tony starts to curl away from him, hugging the side of the couch instead with his knees drawn up to his chest.  Clint and Natasha notice but don't say anything - how could they, they only think Steve and Tony are friends after all - and Steve doesn't either.  He starts forgetting what it's like to see Tony laugh at him and tug his shirt to pull him in. He starts forgetting what it was like to want that.

Then they have a battle and it is Doombots, and it is easy, and Steve can fight them with one hand.  Iron Man and Captain America fall back into their easy routine, although Iron Man is a lot less chatty on the comms than usual.  Captain America does not question it - they are soldiers, they fight. They have time for conversation later.

That is when it happens.

Steve lowers his shield, and in turn his guard, wiping a gloved hand over his hair.  It's matted and sticks to his forehead. It's probably grimy, too. He frowns.

"Good work today," he says into his mic, adjusting the shield straps on his arm.  "Head to Forty Fourth where the quinjet is and we'll have a quick debriefing at SHIELD before we can head home."

He hears a chorus of affirmations and he's turning, scanning the skies for a familiar red and gold suit, when he hears a clank behind him.  A metallic clank - one of the last Doombots, struggling to stand again, spindly arm raised in a last ditch effort to hurt.

There's the sudden sound of repulsors, and a yell that bursts through him in the comms: _"Steve!"_

Steve flings his shield up, but the yell distracts him and the blast from the bot hits him straight in the side.  His vision whites.

Vaguely, he can feel his knees hitting the ground and something hot leaking down the side of his uniform.  It's sticky - _strange,_ he thinks drowsily, and there's a metallic whine and something heavy clunking over to him, the sound of knives flinting together, hands over his body and lowering him to the ground and a male voice saying, _"Steve, Steve, Steve."_

He opens his mouth to respond but only blood comes out.  He's blinking, blinking, blinking the sweat from his eyes and it gets in them anyway, and he writhes on the ground a little, and the voice is cursing and pressing something to his side.  He wants to say _No, no, it's my eyes, I'm fine, I'm fine, my eyes,_ but he's not really thinking properly and suddenly all the exhaustion of today hits him like a wave.

He thinks maybe he sees a comforting brown gaze above him, watery and wide, but he can't quite discern what it is.   _Tony,_ he thinks he says, or maybe he only thinks it.  He tries to reach for the brown in the sky above him.  His hand twitches upward.

He's almost there - almost at that gaze, those brown eyes in that human face that seem so goddamn real, so familiar, so - when the pain in his side flares suddenly and he gags on it, the rolls of it.

He's out before he ever sees those eyes widen and hands touch his face and a hoarse voice break halfway through pleading his name.

 

When Steve wakes up, it is quiet.

He blinks slowly in the hospital room, everything still a bit slow and thick from the drugs that must be pumping into his bloodstream.  The room is near silent except for the heart monitor, which has begun to bleep a little faster, and the sound of two people breathing.

It's only then that he notices Tony is slumped next to him in a chair, head lolling over the back of it, hair a mess and goatee untrimmed and dark rings under his eyes.  He is snoring softly and his arm is thrown over Steve's legs, hand curled around Steve's own.

Steve tries to speak and realizes there are tubes running up his nostrils and down his throat.  Immediately, he gags and has to wrench his hand away from Tony's in order to pull at them, tears springing to his eyes as the hoarse, sore, choking feeling intensifies.  The sudden movement causes Tony to stir and he blinks a little, sleepily, before his eyes catch on Steve's and he's instantly alert, standing up and pressing the call button for the nurse before he's flitting anxiously at the blonde's side.

"Steve," Tony says, and his voice is as broken as he looks.   _"Steve,_ God, it's been four days, I thought you were - "

"I had it under control," Steve rasps out.  He's given up on the tubes. "Just...got distracted.  When you yelled." He feels like he needs to prove something, to himself, somehow.  That is why he says it, shoves away the blame - no other reason, and the shame wallows in his gut but he won't take it back.

"Steve," Tony says and it sounds like he's digging his hands into his chest to pull the words out.  "I'm sorry, oh God, I'm sorry."

"Is everyone else...okay?" he whispers, just as a nurse comes bustling into the room and fussing around his bed.  He slumps back onto the pillows as she raises the bed up a little more, letting her do as she pleases.

"Yeah," Tony says, and he laughs a little, dry and worn.  "They've been visiting while you were out, but they're back at the Tower to shower now.  You were...you were the only one who was hurt."

"Good."  Steve closes his eyes.

Through his sensitive hearing, he can hear when Tony sits back down again and shuffles closer in the chair, taking Steve's hand.  "Never do that to me again," he says quietly. "Shit, I was so scared, Steve, I - "

Steve swallows.  The hand around his feels all nice, and warm, and familiar, but everything feels wrong.  He's afraid if he opens his eyes he won't see Tony anymore but the same man he saw in the penthouse bar that one night, the one with the stained hands and red eyes, the one he couldn't recognize.  "Can I be - alone for awhile?" he says quietly. "I just - I need some time to be alone, and not think about things. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, no, of course," Tony says, a little too loudly.  He snatches his hand back from Steve's in one fluid motion and stands, giving Steve a smile as he steps back.  "You need rest, I get that. I'm just glad you're okay, Winghead. Call me - um, call us - if you need something, alright?  I'll, we'll be here immediately. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve says, and offers a tired smile.  "Thanks, Shellhead. G'night."

"Yeah," Tony says softly, carefully skirting around the nurse as he exits out the door.  "Sleep well, Steve."

 

In the end, they never officially break it off.  They just start visiting each other less and less, and less, and then it's like they were never together in the first place.  They talk to each other even less than they talk to the other Avengers, now, and when Steve goes down for uniform or shield repairs, they are friendly and cordial and exactly everything the world assumes them to be.

Steve is grateful for one small mercy.  Tony hides his drink well now, nowadays.  He cannot smell the old whiskey in the cabinets anymore, although he's gotten an odd whiff from some strange places.  Tony must be trying to put them out of the way of Steve as much as possible, and for that he is grateful.

He begins to meet more people on his daily runs, including a black man named Sam Wilson who's funny and sarcastic, and a woman named Sharon Carter.  He has the lurking suspicion that Carter - no, Sharon - works for SHIELD, but sometimes they go out for coffee and it is fine, in fact _very_ fine.  He still sees Tony in the Tower and on the battlefield, and sometimes Tony takes a step toward him and opens his mouth like he'd like to say something - but then he always stops, and something Steve can't decipher passes through his gaze, and then he fades into the shadows again like a ghost.

Tony has become a ghost.

When December comes around, Tony hosts the annual Maria Stark Foundation Charity Gala and he catches Steve in the hallway, tentatively offering him a card.  "I know we're not, really," he says quietly, almost helplessly. "But - if you want to go - I got you an invitation. You can bring friends too, if you want."

"Thanks, Tony," Steve says in surprise, taking it.  He offers Tony a smile. "I'd be happy to attend."

"Oh," Tony says, fast like he'd expected a rejection.  "Well, uh - that's good then. It's black tie, so, don't forget."

The gala comes around and Steve asks Sharon to come with him.  She agrees eagerly, and he meets her at her apartment door at five thirty on the dot, with a golden cumberbund tucked in his chest pocket and she in a slinky, sparkling golden dress.  

She's beautiful - not quite his type, but beautiful.  Beautiful enough that he offers her his arm and compliments her and means every single word of it.

It's surprising when he arrives and Tony's still not there, although he supposes Tony enjoys showing up "fashionably late because that's what the cool kids do, Steve, c'mon."  Finally Tony shows, alone - and Steve chuckles; maybe he's finally getting over his "ne'er do well" ways - and he looks a little lost for a moment before he sees Steve and heads straight over, smiling.

"Hey, Cap," he says easily, eyes scanning the blonde up and down.  "I thought - I was waiting."

"Waiting?" Steve says, smiling back.  "Sorry, Tony, I should've told you you didn't have to.  Oh - hold on, this is Sharon Carter. Sharon, Tony. Tony, Sharon."

A million complicated emotions flash across Tony's face in an instant, and his gaze shutters for a second before he says, with perfect poise, "Nice to meet you, Sharon.  Is Steve your lucky date?"

Sharon laughs a little.  "I'd say it's the other way around, Mr. Stark," she says easily.

"Tony, please."  Tony nods a little, as if he's gearing up for something.  "Alright, well, it's nice to see you both, but I should probably go off and try to weasel some money before they all get too drunk to write checks."  

Steve laughs a little; there is what he might miss, that dry humor that is so uniquely Tony.  Sharon is funny, but she lacks the charisma that Tony has - the way it draws laughter from Steve nearly without him realizing it.

"So that's Tony Stark, huh?" Sharon says, watching as the billionaire easily weaves through the crowd.  "Iron Man?"

"Yeah," Steve says.  He looks down, into Sharon's eyes.  They are plain brown, but they are kind, and they don't hurt him to look at.  

(For a moment he feels like he is missing something.  But he doesn't quite know what.)

"Yeah, Iron Man," he says and waves to a passing Miss Potts as he pulls Sharon to his side.  She smiles up at him, glowing.  "My teammate."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: please, no hate on steve or how i choose to portray tony's role in ultron. the sceptre/wanda may have had a lot of influence, but tony was still reckless (imo). i wrote this fic for the feels, not for certain character hate, so please be mindful of this when/if you comment. thanks :) p.s. also please note that i didn't write this for the tony angst, exactly. it's more like i wanted to humanize our heroes as people who make mistakes and sometimes don't treat others as kindly as they should. but they *are* human


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